


Spark into a Flame

by blancafic



Series: Blanca and Libby Do Kink Bingo [7]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Cozy Fire, Established Relationship, F/M, Perthshire Cottage, Post-Canon, Post-Season/Series 05, Snowed In, Trapped, hygge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-22
Updated: 2019-02-22
Packaged: 2019-11-03 22:44:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17886554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blancafic/pseuds/blancafic
Summary: After leaving S.H.I.E.L.D. behind, FitzSimmons get pulled into one more field mission and wind up getting trapped in a cottage in the middle of a snowstorm. Whatever will they do?





	Spark into a Flame

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LibbyWeasley](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LibbyWeasley/gifts).



> A warm and cozy birthday gift for the fabulous LibbyWeasley, who deserves all the good things!
> 
> This also fills a MCU Kink Bingo square - Trope: Trapped Together
> 
> Extra special thanks to the fantastic sunalso and the amazing AgentOfShip for their beta help and support. I'm sure they've gained even more respect for Libby now that they know what she usually has to put up with.

The sky was darkening rapidly as the car raced along the small, two-lane highway. Though they had left Fitz’s mum’s house directly after lunch and had only been driving for about an hour, the overbearing, grey sky made it seem much later in the day. Jemma fidgeted in the passenger seat, trying to find a more comfortable position and get a better view out the window. Fitz was at the wheel, eyes focused on the road ahead, but she noticed him glance over quickly when she’d started stirring. Ever since their most recent reunion — probably even before then, if she were being honest — he always seemed to dedicate some fraction of his attention to her, no matter what else he was doing. Sometimes she found it disconcerting, but mostly it was sweet.

“Almost there,” he said, reaching out to squeeze her hand.

The warmth of his fingers was a stark contrast to the cold glass of the car window pressed against her cheek. “I don’t like the look of those clouds.”

“Eh, they’re still a long ways off. Probably blow right past us.”

“I don’t know. I’ve been watching for a while and I think they’re moving closer. Rather quickly.” 

“Trust me, I’m well familiar with weather patterns around these parts.” She wasn’t convinced, and gave him a skeptical glance to let him know it. “Which one of us is actually from here again?”

Jemma huffed and sank into her seat. He was wrong about the storm, but he’d figure it out soon enough. She just hoped it wasn’t too late by then.

It was another ten minutes before she broke the silence again.

“This is ridiculous. Next time I talk to Mack I’m going to give him a piece of my mind.”

“Now don’t go blaming the director,” Fitz said in a voice that was anoyingly soothing. “I volunteered us.”

“But why? I know we said we’d consult, but I didn’t think we’d be back in the field this soon. We’ve been out for less than two months, and here we are, on another mission, heading directly into a snowstorm.”

Although they’d been talking about leaving S.H.I.E.L.D. since the previous summer, they’d waited until Christmas to announce it officially to the team. No one was surprised. Mack accepted their resignations on December 26, and by New Year’s Eve they were celebrating Hogmanay in Glasgow with Fitz’s mum, shellshocked and worn out, but happier than they’d been in a long time. She'd offered them an open-ended invitation to stay as long as they liked, and they'd been there ever since, with only vague plans about the future. Jemma figured they’d get around to discussing it eventually, but it was already nearing the end of February and they had yet to come up with a solid plan. 

“I told you, it’s going to pass us by,” Fitz said, waving his hand as if he could dismiss the clouds himself. “And this isn’t really a mission. We’re just collecting some intel from a source. We were in the neighborhood, so I said we’d help out.”

“Your loyalty is admirable, but we don’t owe S.H.I.E.L.D. anything. Not after—“

She cut herself off, but the end of the sentence hung in the air, heavier than the gathering storm clouds above. Although they were both seeing individual therapists regularly, it was the closest she’d come to bringing up the subject of his death directly since right after they’d been reunited. They were dealing with it in their own ways, and the topic wasn’t expressly forbidden, but she couldn’t handle the way his eyes became shadowed with guilt and sadness every time she mentioned it. So she usually avoided it altogether

She decided a change of subject was in order. “Who are we meeting again?”

It took Fitz a minute to adjust to the new direction of the conversation. He shifted in his seat, but kept his eyes on the road. “Uh. Her name is Mary Clark.”

“And she is . . . ?”

“A source.”

“Well I know that. I was hoping you might have more to go on.”

“Sorry,” he said, glancing quickly at her before turning away again. “It’s classified and we don’t have clearance anymore.”

“Fantastic.”

The further they drove, the worse their visibility got. Soon, all they could see was a few white lines in the road ahead of them. By the time she realized they’d missed their turn-off they’d gone nearly fifteen miles in the wrong direction and had to double back. The clouds continued to gain on them.

“I think we should turn back,” Jemma said, her voice wavering. “Would it be possible to contact her and reschedule?”

Fitz held up his phone in front of him. “I’m not getting a signal. What about you?”

Jemma took her phone out and looked at the screen. “No service for me either. I don’t like this, Fitz.”

She was fairly certain the queasy feeling in her stomach wasn’t due to car sickness. She had been a lot more cautious lately, perhaps even clingy, where Fitz was concerned. But, in her defence, she had good reason to be. If she lost him now, that was it. There was no backup this time. And she couldn’t handle the devastation of mourning him all over again. So everything put her on edge. Each time they hit a bump in the road or she heard a loud noise outside the window, her fingers gripped the handhold at the top of the car door and the knot in her chest tightened a little more. 

“I think we should push on,” he said. “It’ll be easier than turning around. We’re close. Shouldn’t be further than a mile or two up the road from here.”

“How can you tell? We can’t see anything. And what are we supposed to do when we get there?”

“We’ll figure it out then, I guess.”

“I can’t believe this.”

Jemma silently cursed _Director Mackenzie_ and _Mary Clark_ and Fitz’s loyalty and the weather and the universe and anything else she could think of as they trudged along a winding path through the wood leading to a stone cottage up ahead. It was around that time that the first few snowflakes started to fall. She sincerely hoped that this Mary person would be kind enough to invite them inside and let them wait out the storm in the safety of the cottage.

But when they finally reached the front door and knocked there was no answer. The interior was completely dark. She couldn’t see any smoke in the chimney or any other signs of life. Fitz tried twisting the doorknob and found it locked. 

Though Jemma was wearing a heavy winter coat over a thick woolen jumper, plus a scarf, hat, and gloves, she could feel the cold seeping into her bones. The snow was steady now, falling in fat, wet flakes, increasing swiftly in number and speed. 

“Guess Mary won’t be joining us after all,” Fitz said.

“Wait, this isn’t her cottage?”

“No, we were only meeting here. She was coming from Dundee. Storm must have put her off.” He reached his hand out and looked toward the sky, as if just noticing the snow that had been falling for some time.

“So what do we do now?”

Jemma hugged her shoulders and bounced on her toes as Fitz started fiddling with the lock. He shrugged. “We’re just going to have to break in.”

“What? No, Fitz. What if it’s a trap?”

“I don’t think we have a choice. We need to find shelter before the storm gets any worse. Don’t look at me like that. You were right, okay? I was wrong. It’s definitely _not_ going to pass us by. So unless you happen to know somewhere else we can go, it’s either this or take our chances in the car.”

He had a point. She supposed there was no harm in it if they left everything exactly as they found it. It was an emergency, after all. A life or death situation. If this were her cottage and someone came upon it in the middle of a snowstorm, she would have no problem with them making themselves at home. Maybe she and Fitz could come back later with a basket full of fresh supplies to show their gratitude to the owners.

“If we were to, say, happen to find our way inside. Hypothetically. How would we go about it?”

Fitz seemed to sense he was winning her over and rubbed her arm. “Come on, Simmons. We’re trained spies. Since when could a locked door keep us out?”

Hearing his old nickname for her made her go soft inside. She’d officially been Fitz-Simmons for a while now — twice over if you counted both weddings — but sometimes he brought it back, when he was feeling playful or when they were in the midst of a particularly heated discussion. It reminded them both of simpler times, and more often than not resulted in her letting him win.

Fully aware of his tactic, she narrowed her eyes. “You do remember that we were never technically field agents, don’t you?”

Fitz reached into his pocket and produced the multitool he always kept on him. For all his talk of leaving the spy life behind, he was still prepared in case of an emergency. Or maybe that was just the boy scout in him coming through. “And may I remind _you_ that I once broke out of a top-secret, high-security military prison. And then broke back in.”

“With Hunter’s help . . . “

He ignored her and kept working away at the lock. “Anyway, a little remote cottage in the country is nothing.”

Right on cue, the door opened with a click and a twist of the handle. Fitz gave her a self-satisfied grin and damn if it wasn’t the most adorable thing. All her exasperation melted away in the wake of his triumph and the promise of warmth inside.

“After you,” he said, extending his arm toward the open door. 

She took a breath and crossed the threshold. Between the drawn shades and the gloomy skies outside, there was barely enough light to make out a few dark shapes in what she guessed must be the living room in front of her. “Hope we don’t get arrested for breaking and entering. I doubt S.H.I.E.L.D. has any influence over the local authorities here. And we’re not even agents anymore.”

“I don’t think the owners will mind, considering the circumstances.” 

Fitz closed the door behind him and reached for a switch on the wall next to it. The room lit up and she could see that it was indeed a living area. There was a doorway to her left that led to a small kitchen and a dark hallway to her right. The furnishings were sparse, but cozy. It looked more like a holiday rental than someone’s home, which made her feel better. There was a comfy-looking sofa and a simple coffee table on the side of the room nearest the kitchen, but the most impressive feature was the huge stone fireplace that took up the entire back wall. A basket of freshly chopped wood was sitting on the hearth, waiting to bring the room back to life with light and heat. The floor in front of it was covered with a plush, deep-red rug that looked exceptionally inviting. 

Jemma went to the window and drew up the shade. Outside the world was turning white. She couldn’t even see their footprints on the path anymore. It made her feel colder just looking at it. There was no going back now. They were trapped. 

They spent a few minutes acquainting themselves with their surroundings. All things considered, it wasn’t a bad place to be stuck for a while. The kitchen was stocked with tea and a few other provisions, including some canned goods and bags of milk powder and sugar. The only thing in the refrigerator was an unopened bottle of champagne, probably left behind by a renter, who must have kicked themselves when they realized. It looked very expensive. There was working power and water and a cast iron radiator, though it was ancient and didn’t seem big enough to heat up the entire cottage. Jemma found an electric kettle in a cupboard, filled it, and plugged it in to heat up. It was still too cold to remove their coats, so they turned on the radiator and decided to get a fire going for good measure. 

The temperature immediately started creeping up, so she laid out her damp scarf, gloves, and hat on top of the radiator to dry. While Fitz worked on the fire in the living room, she decided to explore the hallway she’d noticed earlier. It had a slightly musty smell, as if it hadn’t been occupied in a while. The wooden floorboards creaked beneath her feet as she approached the first door, which opened to revealed a small W.C. Further on, there were three bedrooms, one of which had an en suite. The rooms were all empty except the latter — odd for a supposed holiday rental — and the only furnishings it had were a large double bed and a pair of nightstands, each with its own reading lamp. Putting her curiosity on hold for the time being, she pulled the top quilt off the bed and dragged it into the living room near the fireplace, which was now reassuringly ablaze.

As she shrugged out of her coat and draped it over the arm of the sofa, Fitz emerged from the kitchen with tea in a pair of matching pink mugs — where he’d found them she had no idea — and settled down next to her on the rug. She spread the quilt over them both and he raised his arm so she could nestle into his side. The first few sips of tea, combined with the sound of his heart beating steadily in his chest, chased away the last remnants of the bitter cold and worry she’d felt earlier.

“This isn’t so bad,” he said, taking a sip from his mug. He was staring straight ahead and his face was glowing with golden, flickering light. Seeing his far-away expression, remembering everything they’d been through to get here, she felt a toasty warmth inside that had nothing to do with the fire, the tea, the blanket, or anything but her all-consuming love for him. His fingers tightened around her shoulders a little as she snuggled in closer. “I mean, if we have to be stuck here. It’s a nice place, isn’t it?”

“It’s lovely,” she said, reaching up to press her lips to his stubbled jaw. 

He placed his mug on the floor next to him and turned toward her to kiss her properly. She quickly lost herself in the pleasures of his mouth as his tea-flavored tongue moved slowly, tenderly, against hers. She couldn’t be sure how long it was before they separated, but she found herself breathless and wanting more. She would never get enough of him. Not ever. 

“I always imagined us settling down in a place like this,” she whispered, though she wasn’t sure why she felt the need to keep her voice low when they were completely alone.

“I know,” he whispered back, entwining their fingers under the quilt. She looked up at him and she could have sworn his eyes were twinkling, but it could have been a trick of the light.

“Maybe we could come back here sometime. Legitimately, of course. If we don’t get caught and banned for life.”

Her head moved with his chest as he laughed. “We can come back anytime you like. And don’t worry. There’s no chance of us getting in trouble with the owners.”

“Because of the storm?”

“No, because _we’re_ the owners. This is our house.”

She jerked out of his arms and leaned back so she could see his face more clearly. “What?” 

His smile grew wider. “Signed the final escrow papers last week. I wanted to surprise you. Mary Clark isn’t a S.H.I.E.L.D. source, she’s an estate agent. She’s the one who left the food in the kitchen and brought the furniture in for us. We were supposed to collect the keys and do the final walk-through today, but the storm kind of threw a spanner in the works.”

“You mean there was never any mission?” He shook his head. “So . . . you’re saying we just broke into our own house?”

He bit the inside of his cheek and nodded. “Mmm hmm.”

She smacked him on the arm. He winced, but his smile never faltered. “Leopold James Fitz-Simmons! You knew this whole time that we weren’t in any danger. Why didn’t you tell me?”

His eyes were definitely twinkling now. “What would be the fun in that?”

“I can’t believe you let me think we were going back into the field! And breaking into someone’s house! I really thought we were going to get in trouble.”

“I’m sorry. But you should have seen the look on your face when I told you.”

“Oh, you are going to pay for that, mister.”

She smacked him again, and he let her tackle him down to the rug. They wrestled playfully for a while before collapsing in a heap of laughter. The sound was soon muffled as their mouths crashed together in a searing kiss, throwing sparks hotter than the nearby blaze. She straddled his hips, moving up and down, enjoying the delicious friction she was creating. Between the threat of the storm, the thrill of trespassing, the fear of being caught, and the shock of Fitz’s surprise, she found she was quite worked up. 

She dropped her hips, grinding into him, and felt the unmistakable evidence of his arousal. 

“Do you like it?” he said, his voice soft and gravely.

“Mmm. Yes.”

He placed his hands on her hips, stilling her movement. “No, I meant the cottage.”

“Oh, yes. That too. It’s perfect. No one’s ever bought me a house before.”

“I’d buy you a dozen houses if it would make you happy.”

She pulled him up so they were both on their knees, face to face.

“Oh, Fitz. You know I don’t need that, right? I just need you. Safe and healthy and _here_. With me.” She pressed her palm against his chest to emphasize her point.

“I know. I feel the same.” He covered her hand with his own. “That’s what this is all about. A place where we can be together, out of danger, where we don’t have to worry about being torn apart at every turn. A place to heal and find out who we are outside of S.H.I.E.L.D.”

She leaned her forehead against his and closed her eyes, breathing in his unique scent mixed with the robust smell of burning wood. Placing her hands on his shoulders to steady herself, she leaned in to kiss him and he met her halfway. He was a miracle, _her_ miracle. Somehow, against all odds, they had found each other again and again, conquering space, time, and even death itself. And now they were here, about to start a whole new, perfectly ordinary adventure. The cosmos owed them this.

She pulled away and looked up at him through her eyelashes. “You know, they say when you buy a new home you’re supposed to christen every room for good luck.”

“Do . . . do they?” His eyes were so wide and dark she could scarcely see the outline of her favorite shade of blue. He looked so eager and flustered she had to bite her lip to keep from laughing. “Is that what they say?”

She gave him her most wicked smile. “Shall we start here in the living room?”

“I don’t see why not.”

She couldn’t think of a reason either, except that the concept of luck was superstitious nonsense and neither of them believed in it. But she wasn’t going to be the one to say it, so she kissed him again. It wasn’t like they had anywhere else to be. This place was theirs and theirs alone. Her heart was so full it felt like it might burst out of her chest. 

But there were other parts of her that wanted to be filled, too. 

He took his time getting there, wandering from her lips to her neck to her collarbone in no hurry, making a journey of it. She spurred him on with sighs and moans of desire. When he ran out of skin at the collar of her jumper, he reached down to the hem and slowly peeled it up over her head, caressing her rib cage and the smooth fabric of her satin bra with the backs of his fingers along the way. Evening the score, she undid the buttons of his shirt one by one and pushed it off of his shoulders. The shadows danced over his bare chest and shoulders, the patterns and colors of the firelight creating a mesmerizing display.

When she met his eyes, she found he’d been watching her watch him. “I love you so much,” he said, cupping her cheek.

“I love you too,” she replied, letting him lower her to the rug. 

As he hovered over her, dotting her skin with sweet, warm kisses, the smoldering flame between them grew into an inferno. She ran her fingers against his back, already slick with sweat, and petted his neck, muttering endearments and words of affection that couldn’t come close to expressing the emotions threatening to overwhelm her senses. He was murmuring something as well, something that sounded a lot like her name, but it was lost amidst the exuberant crackling and sputtering of the fire.

They rid themselves of the rest of their clothes, shielded from the chill of the outside world by their shared heat. Wrapped up in Fitz’s familiar embrace, feeling safe and protected, she knew she was exactly where she was supposed to be. Here there was no worry or doubt, no fear or insecurity. He ran his hands all over her body, leaving burning trails wherever they went. She let herself surrender to the pleasure of their union, reveling in every blissful touch and sensation as they fused their combined energies into a singular, unstoppable, unified force of nature. 

Several hours later, Jemma put another log on the dying fire, stoking it back to life with the poker until it was roaring again. Enough to keep the cold at bay for a little while longer. Outside, the night wind howled as the snowstorm shed its last few flakes. Fitz was working on getting the phone line up and running so they could let his mum know they were safe. The roads would be plowed by now. They could leave if they wanted to. But she didn’t want to. There would be shoveling to get to tomorrow, and they’d have to do some shopping, and retrieve the rest of their things from Glasgow. But they could worry about all that later. For now, she had a fresh cup of tea, a soft blanket, a warm hearth, and an extraordinary husband whose love burned brightest of all.


End file.
